Dís endured. She had always endured. As the princess of the Lonely Mountain, her strength was that of rock and steel and though she might bend beneath the pressure, she swore that she would never break.

When the dragon had come and scattered her people to the winds, Dís had not cried, just shouldered her burdens and walked on, her unyielding spirit giving strength to those who watched. In exile, she had done her duty and married a fine, strong dwarf who would carry on her father's line. Dís bore two sons to him before he died and all their clan celebrated these children fiercely for they had learned to take what joy they could.

It was a mine collapse that stole her husband's life and turned his wife into a widow, long before her time. But at his funeral, Fíli at her side and Kíli just a babe in arms, Dís stood tall before his tomb and she had no tears to shed, though she missed him truly.

Instead, Dís accepted this tragedy with the same stoicism as she had accepted all the rest, because she saw no point in hopeless wishes and knew that life must carry on. It was difficult to raise two small children on her own with the impoverished state in which her people now existed, but she managed well enough and her brother helped out when he could.

Thorin loved his nephews dearly and when he was home, he taught them all he knew as though to make up for what he could not give them. Fíli and Kíli learned their letters, the forge, and how to fight under their uncle's watchful eye and they grew up strong despite their lack.

Then one spring night, Dís was repairing Fíli's cloak and thinking that her sons would soon be old enough for all of them to head out on the road when Kíli toddled over to her. She smiled down at her youngest as he tugged on her dress to get her attention, but the smile dropped from her face at the words he spoke.

“Will dad be back soon, I want to show him my pony?” Her son asked innocently and the question struck Dís speechless because Kíli's father had been dead for more than fifteen years.

After a long beat of silence he asked again, face crinkling in confusion, “Papa Thorin, mum, when is he coming home?” With these words Kíli broke his mother's world, for Dís could hear that there was no doubt in her son's voice. He truly thought that Thorin was his father, and he truly thought of this ragged shack in Ered Luin as his home.

She managed to mutter that she didn't know and send Kíli back to bed, before shutting the door and slumping back against it. Dís swore to herself that she would teach her son the truth, but not now. Now her composure was hanging by a thread and her heart cracked in her chest at the realization of just how far her once mighty house had fallen. The dragon had not only taken their homeland, Smaug had stolen their pride and the history that made them Durin's Folk. If even their prince thought them naught but peasants, if even her son knew nothing of their glory nor the majesty of his own line, then their clan had no future and Erebor could never truly be reclaimed.

So at last she wept, grieving for the forgotten legacy of her people and for her sons whom she had failed so dearly and who must survive in this dark and shattered world.